Fortune's Favorite
by BurningSilence
Summary: Novelization of the Main and Dark Brotherhood questline, with Shivering Isles already being completed. A young woman's journey from High Rock to start over takes her through the darker aspects of Man and Mer. Dark humor and some romance, but it's twisted. Characters are not sanitized. So psychopaths are psychopaths. But hey, they need love too. Slow burn.
1. The Hooded Man

**Fortune's Favorite**

 **The Hooded Man**

Since she came back from the Shivering Isles, Felicienne Sauveterre sought shelter in The Lonely Suitor Lodge to ponder the weight of the situation she found herself in. She cursed her bad luck and poor sense of direction, as well as her her pride, since it kept her from asking directions when she first felt the prickle of unease as she strayed off from her original course towards Chorrol. Instead, she was determined to make her own way, despite the niggling at the back of her mind that Chorrol was really only a few days away by foot and it should not be taking near a week and a half to get there. But, she argued with herself, she was from High Rock, and she didn't really know for sure. She could be going the right way. Her Cyrodilic not being the best, she still struggled to properly read the signs and, ergo, missed her rather easy mark.

Too late, she found herself tired and hungry, and all the way in run-down, balmy Bravil just as the hottest season of the year was winding down, giving way to what promised to be a crisp Heartfire, with the Amulet of Kings still heavy in her pocket and no Brother Jauffre to be found. Cursing herself again, she had planted herself in Silver Home on the Water and overheard the publican mention something about a strange door that opened in the Niben Bay. Count Terentius had sent out a small group of men to investigate it, but they came back, half of them raving mad, and the count decided merely to post someone out there to warn any would-be adventurer against entering. Her pride still bruised, she persuaded one of the merchants who frequented the inn if they would be so kind to take her out that way, as she didn't fancy going for a swim after her already too-long and unplanned trip to Bravil. It probably helped that she threw in thirty septims and assured him that he did not have to leave his boat. She just wanted to be dropped off.

Her passaged secured, she headed out the first thing the following morning and, after a month or two of discourteous dark elf sorceresses, Gatekeepers, Saints and Seducers, Knights of Order, quirky locals and men who wanted to die but didn't want to put the work into it themselves, and recreating the Staff of Sheogorath, she found herself sitting on the Throne of Madness while Jyggalag roamed the waters of Oblivion free of his curse and Sheogorath.

She had only wanted to deliver this damn Amulet. Now she had no idea what she would be facing when she finally made it to Jauffre in Chorrol. Truthfully, though, it didn't appear as if too much had happened while she was away.

But what was she going to do about the Isles? Jyggalag mentioned that she might even grow into her station. Haskill would keep things running smoothly for her, but…

What was she going to do? She couldn't even find her way around Cyrodiil, how could she run a whole realm as a Daedric Prince? Was she even a Daedric Prince? What would happen when she dies? Will she die? Would Jyggalag try to take the realm over again, when she was out of the way?

Her dark brows knit together as she leaned back against the wall behind her bedroll. It was still early and she had no plans to sleep yet, in spite of her exhaustion. Not that she could anyway, her thoughts driving any sense of relaxation from her body. And poor Hirrus Clutumnus. She hated killing him, but she hated the look he had in his eyes more, and his begging her for death. In the end, it seemed easy: just a gentle nudge of the ledge leading to New Sheoth Palace and his dying murmur of "Thank you" that still haunted her dreams a month later. She couldn't bring herself yet to wear the ring he left her in his jewelry box, still wrapped in the letter he left behind in her satchel.

She looked out the window and saw the sun hanging low in the sky, just above the distant mountains. Felicienne shrugged out of her amber cuirass and greaves, relieved at the air being able to hit her skin through the green cotton garments she wore underneath. Taking the trousers off as well, she relished the freedom that came with her current state of undress. She almost forgot what it was like to not have to wear armor every day. She missed her old life in Jehanna: Chapel twice a week, help mother with the household chores, keep up on her magical studies and her dismal healing spells, try to get the handsome shopkeep's attention when they were in town to purchase goods. Normal things. A normal schedule, and normal home. All ripped away in the matter of hours, forcing her to flee to Cyrodiil.

Looking back now, she probably would have picked Skyrim instead. Her Nordic reading skills were stronger, and someone else could deal with this emperor-Amulet-missing son scenario. Maybe even find a burly Nord to make sure no necromancers messed with her, though she remembered the Nords in High Rock as being somewhat xenophobic. So perhaps not.

Her thoughts now well and truly melancholy, she slipped under the covers of her bedroll. She briefly considered reading one of the books in the room, to practice if nothing else, but decided against it, determined to get some sleep now that her mind was free of the spores that floated around the Shivering Isles. Though restless, she allowed herself to see images in the ceiling of the room, the wood grain making dancing patterns, seeing faces in the knotholes of the panelling, and thought back to her now-burnt out bedroom in her family's home, and how the scent of pine and lavender hung in the air no matter what time of year it was.

* * *

Masser and Secunda were shrouded in darkness and Bravil followed suit with only the faint glow of a few street lamps illuminating the city. Besides the diminutive guard shift patrolling the streets, all was still and silent save for a faint ripple, barely perceptible-except to only the most keen of eyes-traveled to the Lonely Suitor Lodge and made its way inside and up the two flights of stairs leading to the girl that slept inside, ignorant of what would soon transpire.

Dropping his Chameleon spell, Lucien Lachance observed the Breton for a moment. She was a pretty, young thing, not terribly so, not enough that people would think it's tragic she fell into the wrong sort. Maybe just a waste of a life with so much more potential. As if there was a better purpose than serving the Dread Father. Ungolim said there was something different about this one; she had been hidden from the Night Mother's gaze when she killed her victim, making her something of an anomaly from the usual recruits. Besides some minor background information, like a brief stint in the Imperial City prison for docking illegally from Hammerfell around the time the emperor was murdered, there was little about her that was available. Almost as if she had winked into existence. Still, Lucien didn't see anything terribly extraordinary about her as he tracked her in town. She was friendly, if appearing tired, and polite. She had even apologized when he bumped into her in a crowd while in his plainclothes. She looked soft, despite her crime. Soft face, soft skin, soft manners. Softness had little place in the Brotherhood, though the appearance of it may have its advantages.

Still, the Listener made it clear that the Night Mother wanted her recruited, and Lucien faithfully served her and Sithis above all else. He would talk to the girl.

She _was_ quite pretty, after all.

He watched her, for some time, a sense of morbid curiosity provoking him. Her chest rose and fell with each breath she took, the material of the sleeping clothes rustling as she shifted in sleep. The shape of her bony shoulders was noticeable even through the cloth and her skin fairly glowed in what little light made its way through the window.

He stepped on a loose floorboard and the creak of wood jostled the girl into consciousness. Her blue eyes snapped open and she pressed herself against the wall behind her. She grappled with the covers and shot to her feet, the cloth of her shirt skimming the tops of her coltish legs, and he relished in the brief thrill that ran through him at the sight of her terror.

"You sleep rather soundly, for a murderer."

"How in Oblivion did you get in here?" she tried to shout, her voice cracking near the end of her question. How sweet. Her eyes fell to the other corner of the room, where her satchel, and weapon, lay. The corners of his lips quirked; she would have to get past him to grab them. She would never make it.

"That is not important," he continued, ignoring her outburst, as he made his way over in front of her package, and blocked her path. "What is important, is that you pay attention to what I am about to propose."

She gaped at him, eyes wide and her hands clenched her shirt, but otherwise she stayed silent, tracking any perceptible movement on his part and considering her spellcasting options. She paid particular attention to the dagger that was strapped to his hip.

"I'm not a murderer," she stated, confused and more than a tad frightened. She met his gaze and set her jaw, refusing to be intimidated by some stranger who broke into her room in the middle of the night. One did not become the champion of a Daedric Prince without having something of a backbone.

He raised his brows, mocking her with his stare. "No?" he asked, "the Night Mother certainly thinks so. You've taken a life, and the Night Mother has requested you, by name, I might add. I've been sent here to offer you a home with our little family."

"Who are you, exactly?" Felicienne asked, a pit forming in her stomach. The Night Mother, he said. The only Night Mother she ever heard about involved the Dark Brotherhood, but beyond that, it wasn't ever anything she looked any deeper into. She didn't want to know. It wasn't like she had ever planned on meeting them.

"I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood," he answered. She thought it a rather simple answer for what was rapidly becoming an exceedingly complicated evening. "As I stated before, you've caught the attention of the Night Mother, and she wants to bring you into our fold."

"And I told you I don't _murder_ people," she bit out. The hooded man advanced on

her and she could begin to make out his facial features. He was an older man, with an aquiline nose and a somewhat heavy brow. Other than that, she couldn't make out many discernable features, except for his eyes, sharp and dark, as they looked into her. She regretted backing herself against the wall.

"Regardless of what you tell yourself, we don't make mistakes." He paused and grasped her face under her small chin, forcing her to look back up when she shrunk away, gloved fingers pressing deeply into the soft flesh of her jaw. Yes, she was soft. He breathed in and smelled the mead she must have been drinking earlier. The sweetness fit her person well. They would see how she would do. After a moment, he lowered his arm and reached into his robes, pulling out an ebony dagger. She jolted at the sight. "If you change your mind, go the the Inn of Ill Omen, along the Green Road. There, you will find a man named Rufio. Kill him. Then, your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete." He held the knife out to the girl and almost laughed at the panicked look she gave him. "Accept this gift," he added. "It is a virgin blade and thirsts for blood. Consider it an advance on a job well done."

She cautiously reached out and grabbed the offered blade, her breath coming rapidly, and clutched it to her chest. He stepped back from her, grinning widely. "Your path is clear," he stated, "kill Rufio and the Dark Brotherhood will embrace you as family." Then, he winked out of existence, without even the sound of faint footfalls as evidence of his visit.

Felicienne remained standing, her eyes darted around the room for any indication she may not be alone yet. When Lachance failed to reappear, she finally sunk down to the ground with her knees tucked under her chin. She tried the calm the pounding of her heart and settle her breathing, but to no avail. Unbidden, Hirrus Clutumnus came to her mind and her body ran cold. Surely that could not have been what that man was talking about. Hirrus had _wanted_ to die; she was keeping him from falling victim to the Hill of Suicides. Still, she reminded herself that he was the only person she did not fell in combat. Perhaps the Night Mother did not draw distinction between murder and mercy-killing. Perhaps it was because she accepted payment. If that were so, she cursed herself again for picking that ring up. She should have left it. She never should have been tempted by the promise of reward, no matter how desperate her circumstances had been.

She slept little that night, nodding off only to jerk herself awake, convinced she heard the smooth, low tones of the hooded man's voice.

* * *

The girl left early the next morning, just as the sky began to turn a faint grey with the rising of Magnus and before the air grew sticky and damp with heat. She crept out of the inn like a spider, avoiding any attention she might draw so that she could slip out unquestioned and unmolested. The events of the previous evening niggled at the back of her mind and she became hyper-aware of anything that moved out of her direct field of vision. Her hand never strayed far from the blade that Lachance gave her, gripping it occasionally when she became startled by a random noise on the road, convinced she could feel those dark eyes burning into her back.

After a time, she realized she neared the location he told her about. She bit her lip and contemplated just passing the inn, and leaving the mess for someone else. However, her weariness, a combination of her lack of food for this stretch and her inability to fall back to sleep the night before coupled with the bright sun that hung overhead proved too much and ducked inside the unassuming building.

She would stop in for a pint and maybe some bread, nothing else.

With this sentiment firmly in place, she walked up to the counter where the publican stood and calmly requested some cheap ale and a small loaf of bread. Something hard that she could wrap and take with her. Manheim Maulhand, she learned he called himself, was overjoyed at having another customer, and he continued to tell her that his only consistent customers were a Redguard named Minerva and an "old codger" named Rufio. At the mention of Rufio's name, Felicienne lost her appetite. Manheim continued to speak, unminding of his patron's ashen face, about how he thought the man was running from something, but what did he care since he paid his tab on time every week.

"On the run?" she asked, interest piqued.

He stopped wiping down the countertop and nodded. "Yeah," he exhaled. "Showed up a few weeks ago, a little after the emperor's murder. Tossed a bag of gold at me and asked me if I had anywhere 'private' that he could stay. I told him he could rent the downstairs suite for 30 gold a week," he said, a thoughtful expression flittered across his face, "I kind of wish I'd told him a higher price, since he seems to be able to pay that no problem every week. But oh well, he's more than paid for his stay, and it barely costs anything to keep him at all. Hardly asks for anything. I think he's trying not to draw attention to himself. Whatever he got himself caught up in, it must be bad."

Felicienne snorted into her drink. "Sounds like it," she added, when she caught him looking at her strangely. She sat for a few moments longer, downing her ale in four long gulps. She still couldn't get into Cyrodilic beer, not after having Nordic brew so nearby in her old hometown. And the mead in the heartland was awful. She then asked if he had another room available, and proceeded to rent it out for the rest of the day.

As she lay on her bedroll, she considered what Manheim told her. He was on the run, but from what. This question kept circling her mind and refused to leave her alone. She let out a huff of frustration; her curiosity had gotten her into enough trouble already. She didn't need any more. She briefly wondered what would happen if she refused the "assignment" altogether. After all, she wasn't really a part of the Brotherhood, nor did she actually tell Lachance she would do it. He just...left her there, with a dagger and directions. But why would someone want this man dead? Did it really matter? Combat was one thing, Hirrus Clutumnus was an exception, but flat-out murder...it didn't sit well with her. What could this man have possibly done that would warrant the Dark Brotherhood coming after him? Who would go to the lengths of performing the Black Sacrament to get rid of him? Her fists clenched at her sides and she squirmed on top of the covers. It began to grow dark, and a part of her wondered if _that man_ would show up again this night. Was he watching her?

In an attempt to settle her thoughts, she left her room, stepping softly as she walked down the hall and stairs. Glancing at her surroundings, she noted that Manheim and the Redguard woman, likely the Minerva he'd mentioned earlier, speaking to each other in low voices, laughing every once in awhile, and quite absorbed with one another, leaving her free to go into the basement unnoticed. When she reached the room she assumed was Rufio's, she found him sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over and appearing weary. She pushed the door open further and his head snapped up. He demanded to know who she was, though she had no answer prepared for him.

"I said who are you? What are you doing here? I ain't done nothing," he spat as he began to stand up.

She crossed her arms before she replied. Fixing him with a cool stare, in contrast to her pounding heart, she stated, "I think we both know that's not exactly true, is it?"

A look of panic crossed his face, and he stammered, "No! Please! I didn't mean to do it, you understand me? She struggled! I... I told her to just stay still, but she wouldn't listen! I had no choice!"

Felicienne's stomach felt hollow and losing whatever meager meal she ate before became a realistic possibility. Hot coals coiled in her midsection, strangling her heart and filled her mouth with bitter ashes and venom. "You told her to _stay still_? It was all her fault, then," she snarled. "Did she cry, too? Or did you just try to get everything over with as quickly as you could?"

He made to bolt past her, but he was old and frail, and she had sharper reflexes and the added benefit of liquid fire lubricating her joints. She punched him once in the throat, winding him and knocking him down before she grabbed her dagger and sank it deep into the side of his neck. Blood sprayed off to the side in two, three, four great bursts, staining her hands, before slowing to a intermittent trickle and puddled around his limp form. She felt the warm blood that covered her hands and the scent of heavy copper that clouded the room and swallowed the bile that rose up her esophagus. She stared at his still-open eyes as the light fled from them. His chalky skin glowed in the lamplight.

A washing bowl caught her eye in the corner of the room, and she used it to first clean her soiled hands, then the room as best as she could. With any luck, Manheim would not notice anything amiss until he came to collect the rent and she would be long, long gone.

She looked around at the gory scene and felt a weight settle over her shoulders, its fingers clawing into her bones and leaving their icy tendrils dripping down her skin.

* * *

She left, after waiting for the publican to settle in for the night and after she made sure she appeared as presentable as possible, in case she ran into an Imperial Guard patrolling the roads. If memory served her correctly, which would be a miracle at this moment, there was another inn not too far away from Ill Omen. Something that started with an F.

When she entered Faregyl Inn, she dispensed with pleasantries and asked the Khajiit woman running the desk if she had a room for rent. Seeming irritated, she responded affirmatively and Felicienne fished out another ten gold as payment, with another five as a tip. She hurried up the stairs and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to strip down out of her day clothes and grateful for finally having a room with a real bed. Not that she thought she would be sleeping any time soon. She wasn't sure how long it would take Lachance to show, but that was why she left Ill Omen so soon; perhaps it would throw him off her trail.

Though, if she were honest with herself, she doubted it.

Her eyes grew heavy as the adrenaline of the evening wore off, leaving her wrung out and aching. Her slumber was interrupted by the creeping sensation at the base of her neck that made her flinch into wakefulness. There, the darkened figure of Lucien Lachance stood once again at the foot of her bed.

At least this time, she still had all of her clothing on.

"So the deed is done? You've changed your mind, have you?" he stated, lips twisted at the corners. Felicienne scowled at his glibness, either blind or uncaring of the turmoil she felt roiling inside of her.

"Have you been watching me?" she accused, arms crossed in front of her chest; a facsimile of a barrier.

"You'll soon find that we know a great many things, for you are now a part of our family,and the Night Mother keeps an eye on her beloved children."

"That didn't exactly answer my question," she huffed. "I think, if we're to be...family...that a certain level of trust should be established. I mean, I don't even know you. To me, you're some strange man who has broken into my room twice, now, and told me to kill someone."

"I did not obligate you to kill anyone, unless you wanted to. And you did. Your murder of Rufio was the signing of a covenant. The manner of execution, your signature. A contract between you, and the Dark Brotherhood. If you wished to cut ties with us, you needed only to ignore our meeting and carry on with your life as if we had never met. But you did not," he reminded her. Felicienne thought he sounded smug.

"Then...then now what?" she asked, hating how her voice still shook.

He smiled, warmer than previously, but still left her feeling wary. He told her to go to Cheydinhal, to an abandoned house in the eastern part of the town, and break into the basement where she would need to answer a question that the black door would pose to her. She nodded, her hair obscuring her face. "When you're inside," he continued, "you'll speak to an Argonian woman, Ocheeva. She can answer any other questions you might have. Now, we must part for now. You have much to do in the meantime, and I will be following your progress...closely." He stretched his hand towards her face, ignoring her small jump, and brushed a lock of dark hair away from her face. "Welcome to the family."

She shivered when his hand, accidentally, touched the flesh of her cheek, his glove catching softly on the skin. The smell of leather and smoke, and something metallic, wafted around her, clinging to her clothing and hair. In an instant, he was gone, leaving her again to wonder if he had ever really been there at all.

…


	2. Sanctuary

Entering Cheydinhal was a relief for Felicienne. Having taken her two and half days to complete the trip, the prospect of finding a bed and hot food was more than appealing to her at the moment. It was still daylight and finding the abandoned house that Lachance told her about was out of the question. She didn't need to draw anymore attention to herself. It was her first time in the city, and she'd rather not make a poor first impression upon the town guards. If local rumours were to be believed, however, it seemed that would matter very little; she could probably be thrown in jail for sneezing the wrong way in front of a guard here.

Despite the unease of the citizenry, the town itself was quite beautiful, and Felicienne thought it ironic that such a lovely and verdant place would be home to a death-worshipping cult. A death cult that she was now a part of as well, she reminded herself.

She attempted to pass the day as she would normally: walking around the town and listening to the conversations of others. The crisp air of Frostfall worked its way well into her leathers over the past few days, and she looked forward to being inside by a warm fire later at night. Though cold, the weather was otherwise bright and pleasant, if a little jarring with the sunlight glinting off of the buildings and the silver creek that flowed through the town. The only sounds that lingered were the conversations between residents and the rushing of that water that ran across the landscape.

When the sun had dipped low enough in the sky for her tastes, and the streets became more sparsely populated, she made her way to the eastern wall of the city, staying off the main road as much as she could. There, the only abandoned house that she noted had boarded windows and doors and stuck out, in spite of the encroaching twilight. Silently, she walked towards the door, checking that no one saw her-the guards too occupied with each other-she fished a lock pick out of her pockets and fiddled with the lock until she heard the tell-tale sound of a tumbler catching and staying in place. One more click and the door gave way to her persuasion and allowed her entrance.

The place appeared as if it had been abandoned for quite some time, cobwebs and dust clinging to every corner and surface of the entry room. Spirals of dust glinted in the fading light, the only movement in the house. The musty air assaulted her nose, and she held back a sneeze, afraid to make even the slightest noise. The scent of old wood and spoiled food clung to the room and slithered down the walls, following her as she walked towards the basement door. She proceeded down the corridor, a faint red glow becoming more prevalent as she walked on. She came upon what must have been the black door that Lachance had told her about, only to be greeted with an eerie, inhuman voice asking what the color of night was. Remember the passphrase the Speaker had given her, she stuttered out her response and the door swung open.

"Welcome home," it rasped into her ear. She stepped inside and was greeting by an Argonian woman, who smiled at her and waved her in.

"Greetings, sister!" she grasped Felicienne's hands and shook them, her grasp firm. "Lucien has told me all about you! Let me be the first to welcome you to our sanctuary; may it serve as a place of comfort and security to you when you need it."

"Thank you," the Breton murmured. Ocheeva then handed her a package and explained that it was a set of armor, specific to the Dark Brotherhood. She wasn't required to wear it, but she might find it beneficial, especially with the enchantments that it was created with. "So...Lachance told you about me?"

"Of course he did. You're one of us now. Besides, Vicente and I need to keep abreast of any newcomers into our little home. If only to make sure everyone gets a fair shot at contracts," she laughed, patting the girl on the back. The coolness of the woman's scales seeped into Felicienne and skittered across her flesh beneath her clothing. "Besides, Lucien isn't here very often. His duties with the Black Hand keep him busy most of the time. So, he trusts Vicente and I to keep order around here. In fact, you'll need to speak with him next and, if you want, check to see if he has anything available for you to do."

Holding the package to her chest, Felicienne nodded and inquired where she might find Vicente. When given the directions to his quarters, she made her way down the long hallway that took her further underground. She didn't pass anyone, but she could see evidence of multiple people living under the same roof: worn furniture, books unshelved, and the sounds of chatter in the two rooms that were off to the side of the main entry way. She reached the end of the corridor and she knocked on the large chamber doors that met her.

A soft voice told her to enter, and she pulled the heavy doors open. What she next saw left her jaw agape and a scream trapped within her throat. The man inside was a ghastly shade of white, even more pale than she was, and gaunt. He noticed her staring, and smirked.

"Ah, do not let my appearance unnerve you. The needs and tenets of the Dark Brotherhood come before my own as a vampire," he stated. Embarrassed, she stammered out an apology, which he waved off and told her that it wasn't so uncommon for new members to be taken off-guard by him. She explained she had never seen a vampire before and she didn't mean to stare. Then, she inquired if he was alright.

He told her he was fine; he had ways of getting sustenance even with his duties underground.

Felicienne did not deign to ask anymore questions about that.

Vicente went on to explain how their contract system worked, and that, if she was ready, he did have a job available for her, but perhaps she would like to take it easy for the rest of the evening, as this was all new for her. She admitted she wasn't sure what she had gotten herself into; she hadn't been in Cyrodiil very long, and she came at a most inconvenient time after leaving her home in High Rock.

She fell silent and sighed. She still had that Amulet to deliver to Chorrol, and she kept putting it off. She came to Cyrodiil to escape, and only found herself dragged into the machinations of others. First Uriel Septim and his murderers, then Sheogorath-and she swore she could hear that daedric bastard laughing at her despite his transformation back to Jyggalag-and now the Dark Brotherhood. She should have either just stayed in High Rock or her jail cell, Imperial pardon be damned. She worried her bottom lip and ran her hand through her hair, catching on the various knots the wind had tangled it into.

Vicente, watching the expressions flit across her face, asked her if she would just like to head up to the living quarters and get settled in; they could resume their business tomorrow after she was feeling better. Gratefully, Felicienne nodded and left his room, still holding the armor Ocheeva gave her. She wanted to get to know the people she would be living with, at least part of the time.

Though they were underground, the sanctuary itself was somewhat cozy, but failed to dissipate the cold that rooted in her bones. The stone hall echoed with her muffled footsteps, the sound buzzing in her ears. She watched the play of the shadows dance across the walls in the flickering lamp and candle light as she made her way to, what she assumed, was the main living quarters.

What was the protocol for meeting a group of assassins? Would one stand in a group and introduce yourself? One by one? Maybe they would think she was some sort of fraud. She certainly felt like one. She was certainly no hardened criminal, despite the situation she found herself in. Unlucky, yes, but not a criminal. Or, she hadn't been, at least. Not before Lachance and his Night Mother.

Fortunately, an older blonde woman-Breton, Felicienne thought-saved her from her spiraling concerns by introducing herself as Antoinetta Marie.

"I've heard so much about you, it's wonderful to finally meet you," she told Felicienne.

"Everyone's heard so much about me," the younger Breton tittered. "How keen," she added. "But I don't know anything about anyone else."

The blonde laughed. It was a pleasant sound, and put Felicienne a bit more at ease. "You'll become accustomed to everything soon enough. You've only just arrived, sister."

Felicienne looked abashed, scuffing her foot along the concrete floor and fiddling with her parcel.

"Don't worry about it," Antoinetta continued. "I'm one of the newest members here, besides you, of course. It's takes a little bit to get used to everything, but you'll never find a place as wonderful as our sanctuary. The people here, we truly are a family."

"You really like it here, then?"

At Felicienne's question, Antoinetta's face took a more sombre countenance. "Have you ever lived on the streets? Struggling to get by every day? Lucien Lachance saved my life. When he found me, I was living in a gutter, an inch away from death. I owe him everything," she stated, ardently. "This place is my true home. I've never felt more welcomed or loved."

The younger blinked, taken aback by Antoinetta's vehemence. But...she could understand where the other woman came from. Until fairly recently, Felicienne had a home until it was ripped away. Even the Shivering Isles could not replace that, not fully. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She didn't know what would happen to her after delivering the emperor's Amulet to the Blades; perhaps she could find some permanency here. As her thoughts began to run away from her, she felt herself eager to fidget, her skin too tight for her.

"I don't know how you wound up here," Antoinetta cut into her thoughts, "but there must be a reason for it. I overheard Lucien speaking with Ocheeva and Vicente about you, and that the Listener was rather insistent on you being recruited."

"Oh, how lovely," Felicienne ventured, flicking her eyes to the ground. "Everything's been so...hectic lately."

"You don't need to explain," Antoinetta claimed and clapped a hand on the slightly smaller girl's shoulder. "Now, why don't I introduce you to everyone else. And don't mind M'raaj-Dar, he's been touchy since everything started happening."

"What do you mean by 'everything'?

* * *

And everyone had been surprisingly kind, for the most part. Antoinetta's warning about M'raaj-Dar had been more than helpful, and Felicienne only felt a little bit stung at his frosty reception of her. Meeting the others-Telaendril, Gogron, and Teinaava-had been a relatively painless, if colorful, affair. And they all seemed to love Lachance, given the respect they showed when brought up.

She wondered if he'd broken into any of their bedrooms in the middle of the night. Of course, he did try to kill Telaendril originally, so maybe she was being a tad unfair.

Or everyone here was completely mad. She should know.

Antoinetta Marie told her that she could bunk next to her, and Felicienne jumped on the chance. She unpacked a few of her more basic necessities, like sleeping garments and small clothes. It would take a bit to get used to the communal sleeping arrangements, but frankly that was the least of her concerns at the moment. She still wasn't sure about killing for money. Killing people she didn't even know, to boot. But would that really be so different from what she had done already? Not counting those she felled in combat, she killed, murdered, Hirrus Clutumnus. Yes, she could justify it and say that, at the time, he was looking for a way to avoid suicide, but she ultimately received payment for...services rendered. She killed Thadon as well, with an elevation in status as her reward. Granted, she was trying to stop an apocalypse, but still...she killed him in relative cold-blood. And then there was Rufio, despite the fact he was running from his crimes, she killed him out of revenge.

Was murder for hire really that different compared to what she had already done?

She wasn't sure she had the stomach for it, not after breaking it down the way she had. She shut and locked her trunk at the foot of her bed, and flopped down on top of her new bed. Chorrol was a few days away from Cheydinhal, nestled at the base of the Colovian Highlands.

And that was another issue: she had yet to deliver the Amulet that she promised to the emperor. And now Vicente was waiting for her to accept a contract, and she was unsure how long he would be willing to accept her as merely "settling in," and not "dodging family obligations." If he were to deem her behavior that latter, what would happen then? Gogron had told her what Lucien had done to another Brother who broke one of the Tenets; would he do the same to her? Worse? He had not been particularly rough or cruel during their initial encounters, but would that last if he suspected any betrayal?

Likely no.

She shivered. If he was a Speaker for the ruling organization of the Dark Brotherhood, chances are he was not exactly renowned for his gentleness. Or mercy. She would endeavor to prolong her stay in his good graces. Her irritation mellowed out in favor of caution; it wouldn't do for her to be so hot-headed in their encounters, should she encounter him again. Though, Ocheeva did say that he did not come by often at all, so her worrying was likely for naught.

It was hard to keep track of time in the sanctuary but, given Vicente's condition, she decided to risk his still being up and inquire about that contract that he said he had for her.

* * *

As luck would have it, the contract had been for a pirate docked in the Imperial City docks, which, though slightly out of the way, did serve to bring her closer to Chorrol, which was where she found herself now. The contract itself had been fairly simple: she slipped in through the back of the ship, right into the Captain's Quarters, killed him in his sleep, and picked up a rather unusual plant that she found sitting on his desk. And, if she happened to loot his private chest he kept and found 100 septims, well, she would just consider that a bonus. Best of all, no one had seen her face, despite leaving just as his crew burst into the room. By the time they found their captain it was already too late and she had slipped out the same door she entered through.

She comforted herself with the thought that, as a pirate, he was sure to have committed many horrible crimes. Crimes that, when in High Rock, made her glad that she and her family had lived further inland and not in a port city. Though, that was little comfort when news of bandit raids circulated through town.

As she came nearer to the city gates, she saw a small abbey and chapel. The Priory. At last, she thought. Now, she could unload this necklace and move on with her life, such as it was. She hurried towards the building, and asked the man who greeted her in the yard where she could find Jauffre. Upon learning that he would be in Weynon House, searched for him and found the man sitting behind a desk.

"I'm Brother Jauffre. Who are you and what do you want?" he asked, sharply.

Caught off-guard by his brusqueness, Felicienne stammered that she had been there when the emperor died and was told to give his Amulet to him. She held out the small burden and saw Jauffre's eyes harden.

"Supposing I believe your story," he began, holding out his hand into which Felicienne dropped the necklace, "why would he give this to you, and why would you take so long to get here?"

"You know, I didn't ask to be here. I came here, to Cyrodiil, to just...start over, not become some errand-girl for the Imperials. I have had more than this to deal with over the last month or so," she snapped. "As for the why did he give this to me part of your question; I have no idea. He said something about my face and the sun's companion and the Prince of Destruction and closing the jaws of Oblivion…"

"He said that?" Jauffre interrupted.

Snapping her mouth shut, she jerked her head in assent, her shoulders stiff and back rigid.

"He also said that there was another heir."

"There is," Jauffre confirmed. "I am one of the few who know about his existence. Years ago, I served as captain of the Blades, and the emperor called me into a room where a baby boy lie sleeping in a basket. He never told me anything else about the child, but it was obvious that Uriel was the father. He asked me to find a safe home for him, and would inquire about the child's progress from time to time. If he told you about him, then Uriel must have trusted you."

"There...there wasn't really a lot of time to assess the situation," she admitted. Biting her lip, she looked to the ground, remembering that day clearly. "It wasn't like he had a lot of options to choose from."

"Still, he saw something in you. You said it yourself. He perceived some threat from Oblivion, and I believe he felt that you can help." The man nodded, breathing in through his nose before slowly exhaling. "Very well, I will do what I can to aid you, but you first need to find Uriel's son."

"Wait, what?"

"His name is Martin, and he serves as a Priest of Akatosh in Kvatch over in Colovia."

"I'm to find him?"

"Indeed. There's much the Blades need to prepare for, and I will need to make the necessary arrangements. I will keep the Amulet of Kings safe, and after you find Martin, we will go forward with a plan of action."

"I hesitate to ask this, but do I even have a say?"

"Uriel saw something in you, and he was infrequently wrong about such things. Of course, I cannot force you to comply with his wishes, but I would think that you might consider this a great deal more important than anything else at this moment, considering the possible threat from Oblivion and Mehrunes Dagon. If nothing else, if you do nothing, don't you think that would inevitably affect you?"

And there wasn't much else that she could say to that.

* * *

After hitching a ride with a merchant caravan that was traveling to Anvil, which shaved a couple days off of her trip, she arrived at the base of the hill that Kvatch stood, and she began the ascent to the elevated city. The sky was darkening and crackled with electricity and the scent of sulfur wafted down the path. She continued on, still, hoping to make it up the hill before nightfall. Small flecks were falling from the clouds, and for a moment Felicienne thought that the weather might turn. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that it was ash raining down. A ball of ice settled in her stomach, weighing her down as she picked up her pace. Along the way, she was nearly bowled over by a fleeing elf who, in his panicked state, ranted about the town being a lost cause, that they'd been overrun with daedra.

"Daedra? Where did they come from?" she questioned, after grabbing a hold of his arm.

"They opened some sort of gate in the middle of the town square, last night while everyone slept. A gate to Oblivion itself! You have to run while you can! Savlian and his men can't hold them off forever." The elf's voice broke and he brought his hands up to the sides of his head, mumbling "oh gods, oh gods" over and over.  
Felicienne shook him, as gently as she could, and tried to interrupt his melt-down.

"Where are Savlian and his men?"

"They've created a barricade outside the remaining gate, but you can't think of going there. It's madness. You have to run! Anyone who stays is a fool!"

He wriggled out of her grasp and bolted down the road. The closer she got to the city, the more acrid the air became. The scent of charred flesh and blackened stone became apparent and the distant sound of burning wood could be heard. The heat dragged its claws down her sides, yet the ice that formed in her stomach had yet to melt. She let herself consider the situation if only she'd been a little faster, or hadn't decided to finish her contract before heading towards Kvatch. She broke out into a sprint only to be confronted with the camp set up for the city's refugees.

"Where are the guards?"

An Orc woman pointed up the road, and Felicienne nodded at her and darted off, leaving the townsfolk to their grief. The sounds of soft sobbing coming out of a few of the tents echoed in her ears and followed her up the bluff.

She saw a handful of soldiers and a couple daedra as they engaged in a small skirmish at the barricades. The guards eventually overwhelmed them, but no one cheered. She approached the guards cautiously and asked for Savlian. An older Imperial identified himself by that name, and asked her what she thought she was doing in Kvatch at a time like this.

Not thinking, she blurted out, "What happened here?"

Scowling, the man replied, "We lost the damn city; that's what happened! We were overrun. We couldn't even get everyone out; there are still civilians inside."

"What about Brother Martin?"

"Brother Martin? The priest? I saw him leading a small group towards the Chapel of Akatosh, but we haven't been able to get anyone inside with that damned Oblivion Gate blocking the way."

The Divines must be laughing at her. Felicienne bit her lip and glanced at the Gate again, feeling that ice crack and bubble in her abdomen.

"Let me help," she demanded.

"You? Why? What could you possibly do?"

"Look, I need to get in that city. The only way I can do that is if that Gate is closed, and I don't see you guys being able to do much. If you guys leave, the daedra could easily overrun the camp below, right? That's why you're all still out here, isn't it?"

The man furrowed his brows and exhaled sharply. "I sent it a small contingent of men to figure out how to shut the Gate, but they haven't returned. I don't want to risk more men, but if we can't get it closed….then I don't know what we can do."

"I'll go in. I...I know my way around daedra, and magic; I could figure it out."

He regarded her with narrowed eyes and held her gaze for some time before he finally acquiesced to her. "Fine, but only because we're desperate. I hesitate to send someone untrained to do this, but you seem pretty confident you can pull this off. If you can, we'd owe you a great debt."

Pursing her lips and nodding, Felicienne crept toward the glowing portal, cursing her bad luck and curiosity all the while. The heat it emanated stung her skin until it shone and the aroma of carbon and smoke wrapped its tendrils around her, biting and scratching her flesh and hair. Distantly, she heard the ethereal hum the Gate sang and, taking a deep breath, she leapt.

* * *

Though it felt like days, in truth, it was merely hours she was trapped inside the wasteland that was Mehrunes Dagon's realm of Oblivion. Even in her most horrific nightmares she never witnessed such a place. She still felt the blistering heat on her body, despite the cool rain that poured out of the sky and masked her tears. Her thoughts turned towards Menien Goneld, the man she had to leave behind. All attempts to break open the cage were ineffective, and he finally scolded her for taking so long to close the Gate. He railed at her to leave him, and she knew that he was right. She needed to close the Gate, but...it didn't feel right, leaving him there.

If he died when the portal collapsed, she hoped it was quick.

"You did it!" Savlian's voice broke into her thoughts. "You actually did it! We might actually have a chance.

She nodded, her shoulders hunched and back slumped forward. Her hair hung limply around her soot-stained face. Her muscles ached and she just wanted to fall into a heap somewhere and feel sorry for herself. But she needed to press on. She couldn't just leave now.

"You clearly have some combat experience; maybe even more than some of my men. Why don't you help us drive the rest of these monsters out?"

She straightened her back and sighed. "As long as you guys don't mind getting nipped by the random frost spell or two, definitely."

Securing the southern part of the city was surprisingly fast work and they made their way into the chapel within the hour. Felicienne scanned the room of survivors, and her eyes settled on a brown-haired man in a priest's robe who was sitting in a pew as the guards spoke to each other. Seating herself next to him, she asked how he was holding up. He remained silent, but she prodded him still.

"The emperor told me to find you."

"The emperor? He's dead. Who are you? What do you really want with me?" he turned to look at her sharply.

"You're Brother Martin, right? The priest?" she ventured. She kept her gaze locked with his, but remained still.

"Yes, I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I don't think I will be much use to you; if this is all some part of the gods' divine plan, I'm not sure I want any part of it."

"Well, maybe there is a plan. Just not the kind you're thinking about."

He scoffed at her and broke their eye contact. Instead, he looked up at the ruined stained glass windows of the chapel. "What plan? I prayed to Akatosh all through the night for someone to help us. There was no help. Only more daedra. The gods have forsaken us."

"I've lost a home, too. No one helped me, either," she bit out. "It's horrible. I get it. You're pissed. You have every right to be. But I have something important to tell you that might help explain why this happened. If that could be any comfort to you. I know I would have appreciated it," she ended in a mumble.

"What could you possibly know about this? You're just a girl."

She narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. "And what, exactly, does that mean?"

"You're a child."

"Yeah, a child who closed that Oblivion Gate outside. And, so you know-not that I have to justify myself to you just because you're middle-aged-I just had my twenty-fourth birthday this past Rain's Hand. Now, would you listen to me? The emperor sent me to find you because you're his son."

"That's impossible," he stated. "My father was a farmer."

"No, your father was Uriel Septim. You're stepfather was a farmer."

"Even if what you say is true, how would that explain-oh gods," he paused as his face grew ashen, "the assassination. You think they were coming after me," he finished.

"I'd say I know that they were coming after you. We need to get you to Weynon Priory and to Brother Jauffre."

"I can't just leave these people for some...flight of fancy you would have me pursue."

"Do you think I really want to be involved in all of this? You don't think I would rather be back home, with my family-who, by the way, are no longer around-studying or learning...needlepoint or something, or trying to settle down in the Imperial city until I can move somewhere quieter? Maybe join the Mages' Guild, and then retire after a nice, long career of doing...Mage's Guild things. Then just drinking tea by the fireplace in my nice, out-of-the-way home in the countryside. But here I am, rescuing you from daedra instead."

"Why?"

"Because who else is going to? Honestly? And why would I lie to you? I don't know you."

Martin leaned back against the pew and took several deep breaths. After some time, Felicienne opened her mouth to start back up again when Martin let out a drawn out exhale.

"Alright. I'll go with you. You closed the Oblivion Gate, you saved what's left of the city. The least I can do is take you at your word."

She blinked at him, now that she had run out of steam and her eyes grew round, the light of the remaining candles reflecting off of the blue irises.

"Ah, well, well alright then." She crossed her arms and nodded. "We can rest for the night down at the camp, if you want, and head out in the morning," she stammered.

* * *

"What do you mean the Amulet of Kings is gone, Brother Jauffre," Felicienne forced out, her fists clenched at her sides.

"The assassins must have stolen it from its place."

"I can see that, Brother Jauffre. I thought it was meant to be safe here, Brother Jauffre."

"I can assure you I did not foresee this happening. We were waylaid by these monsters just a few hours before."

She pursed her lips and kept her tense stance, arms crossed in front of her, but sighed and looked towards her companion. "On the bright side, I did find Martin and, here is is, safe and sound. Unlike the Amulet of Kings, Brother Jauffre."

"I think that's enough," Martin interjected, laying a hand on the girl's shoulder.

She shrugged his hand off but relented. "Fine, you're right. None of us knew they'd come here. I'm just frustrated. It's like they know what we're going to do before we do it."

"Yes, that is indeed concerning," Jauffre conceded, his expression matching the Breton's. "We need to get Martin to Cloud Ruler Temple. It's the Blades' hidden fortress and will be the safest place for Martin while we try to sort out this situation."

"And where is this fortress, if you don't mind me asking?"

"In the Jerall Mountains, near Bruma."

"All that way?"

"Is that a problem?" he asked, crossing his arms and frowning at her.

"I suppose not, but we better get going; we have a lot of ground to cover, and not a lot of time to do it in. And I sort of need to get back to Cheydinhal sometime in the near future. I have some matters to...settle."

"We can leave as soon as you both are ready."

"I don't have much with me," Martin added, "The sooner we reach Cloud Ruler Temple, the better." Jauffre and Martin both looked towards Felicienne. Realizing they were waiting for her signal she slumped.

"Am I leading, then? Oh that's just great, I hope you both understand that me getting lost is what got me into a lot of this mess, so someone better help me with directions. But I'm ready, we can head out now."

* * *

Felicienne was positive that the trip to the Jerall Mountains was the absolute worst journey she'd ever taken. On Mundus, anyway. She would take the same trip past Bruma a dozen times if it meant she never had to go back to Oblivion. Mehrunes Dagon must have been a psychopath to build such a world. It was nothing like Sheogorath's. With a curious pang, she recalled the vibrant colors of Mania and the twisted and gnarled mushroom trees of Dementia. She felt herself missing the Isles and even their residents. She even missed Haskill's biting sarcasm when they spoke. At least he gave her fairly clear directions, under the-poor-guise of letting her run the show.

She even missed Relmyna Verenim, despite how strangely affectionate she'd become towards Felicienne.

Everything in Mundus was grey, she noted as her gaze roved the landscape. Especially in the mountains where they found themselves. Grey and cold and dim, not unlike her home in Jehanna with it's frost covered roof and burned out interior. Everything was grey there, too.

As their group was greeted by the Blades, and the pomp and circumstance overwhelmed poor Martin, she turned to grin at him, gesturing him ahead of her before they stepped into the main dining hall.

"Well, what are you waiting for. Your majesty," she added, gesturing to him.

Ducking his head, Martin led the way into Cloud Ruler Temple.

* * *

"I don't understand," Martin sighed, once they settled in to the temple. They sat across from each other in front of the hearth, both trying to dispel the bite of the Frostfall Jerall air. Martin leaned against the back of his chair, the shadows from the dancing firelight flickering across his face, causing the fine lines around his eyes and mouth to appear more pronounced.

Felicienne looked up, furrowing her brows and tilting her head to the side at his exhalation.

"The Oblivion Gate," he amended. "Everything I know about daedric magic tells me that such a stable portal shouldn't be possible."

She let out a laugh and grinned. "What does a Priest of Akatosh know about daedric magic?"

"I wasn't always a priest, you know. I wasn't born to it." His eyes drifted behind her, to a point past her shoulder. "Let's just say I was young once, and impatient, and got in over my head."

She nodded. "I know what you mean," she grumbled. "I still can't believe Jauffre asked me to be a member of the Blades," she mused, changing the subject.

"I don't understand why you didn't accept."

"It's not really for me. No offense, I mean, it's not personal. I just don't think I'm cut out to be a bodyguard." She sighed and slipped of the seat, edging closer to the fireplace and she felt the tingle of heat spread across the surface of her skin. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip, tasting the melted snowdrops that landed their, savoring their coolness.

"I don't know about that," he mused. She felt his eyes on her, the tell tale prickling of the nape of her neck turned her face away from the fire to look towards him again. "I don't think you give yourself enough credit," he added. "You can't possibly be comfortable on the floor," Martin admonished, leaning forward in his chair.  
"I like sitting on the floor," she defended, crossing her legs beneath her. "Besides, I was getting cold sitting that far away."

"Not used to the cold?"

"Please. I'm from High Rock, near the Skyrim border. I'm fine with cold. I just also like getting warm."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Where in High Rock? I know you said the Western Reach, but that's a large place."

"Jehanna."

"Your name is interesting, then. Not typical for a Reachman."

Felicienne shifted in her place and tugged at the hem of her shirt. "My father was from the south, and I'm named for someone in his family. And it's not like we're all barbarians, living in caves and wearing animal pelts. Plenty of us in the Reach live in society and go to temple."

"I didn't mean anything by what I said," he soothed. She huffed and rolled her eyes.

"I know. Sorry." She sat, silent for a time, before she broke the quiet. "My mother did want to name me Bloudeuwedd." She chuckled to herself. "You see why my father stopped her."

"It's a lovely name."

"It's awful and you know it."

"What is your mother's name?"

"My mother's?" She turned back towards the hearth and stared at the coals through the flames. She watched the way the glow of heat glided across their surface. "She was Eirlys." She heard him sigh behind her and the wood of the chair creak under his weight as he moved.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"It's fine. She's gone. They both are. Life in the Reach is difficult, civilized or not. I was lucky."

"How-"

"I really don't want to talk about it, if it's all the same to you."

He nodded, then cleared his throat when she remained in her current position. "Of course. I shouldn't have pried."

"No, it's fine. It's just been a long day. I'll tell you about it sometime. Just not today." She looked over her shoulder, back towards Martin, grinning. "Maybe around the same time you tell me how a Priest of Akatosh is so knowledgeable about daedric magic?"

He smiled at her, and rose from his seat. She laughed again and let her gaze follow him before drifting over to the large windows in front and watched the snowflakes, illuminated by torchlight, pirouette their descent to Nirn, contrasted by the black sky.


	3. Winding Paths

Given the events of the last few days, Felicienne felt it was rather good timing on her part that she managed to make it back to Cheydinhal within the month. Martin was settled into Cloud Ruler Temple where he and Jauffre would do some more research into the Amulet of Kings and its role with lighting the Dragonfires, but for now, they told her there was little she could do. Jauffre was still waiting on word from one of his agents in the Imperial City.

So she went back to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary to tell Vicente she had completed her task.

Three weeks ago.

They couldn't have forgotten about her.

She walked in, a little disoriented that everything still looked the same.

"Look who decided to show back up," M'raaj-Dar said behind his book.

"Some things came up," she shot back. "It got a little out of hand. I still fulfilled my contract."

"Did I do anything to indicate I care?"

Scowling, she brushed past his chair on her way down to Vicente's chambers, leaving him to read in peace.

"You're back," Vicente stated when she stepped into his room.

"Yes, sorry for the delay," she mumbled. "I hadn't meant to be gone for so long."

"Do not concern yourself with that. I had already heard of your success at the docks. We were concerned, however, that something may have happened to you afterward."

She shook her head, her eyebrows raised and eyes widened. Licking her lips, she muttered a negative response and that she was fine, if a little tired from the trip.

He smiled at her, and no matter how much she tried to keep herself from flinching, it still unnerved her to see the flash of fang between his lips. He seemed to enjoy her reaction though, since he let out a small chuckle at her discomfort. "We care about our family members, though sometimes it is inevitable that harm falls upon one. Especially in this line of work," he paused before adding, "How was your first paid contract?"

"It was...interesting," she answered honestly. "I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. I grew up hearing stories about pirates and I've always been a bit frightened of them. Other than that, it was a little...easy."

"Yes, I did not think you would have much trouble with that one. I will have another contract for you, if you are interested."

She nibbled her lip and turned the idea over in her mind. "Yes, I suppose. Is it alright if I don't head out right away?"

"Of course, but do make sure you do not delay too long; the client is growing restless. I was saving this one for you to see how you handle a more...delicate situation."

"I just want to stay in for a day or two; nothing too long."

"Very well," he conceded while he walked over to his desk. "I don't believe that will be a problem. The target is a Wood Elf named Baenlin. The client would like for his death to appear as an accident. There is a bonus involved if you complete the task to its specifications."

"Specifications?"

"Baenlin has a large, mounted minotaur head above his favorite arm chair. The client would like you to loosen the fastenings so that it falls on him."

She knew she could do that. She often made a point to get around without attracting too much attention anyway. She would just need to be extra careful. "Sounds easy enough," she said.

"Just make sure you watch out for the servant, Gromm. And don't kill him."

"Even if he attacks me?"

"Just don't be seen." Then he laughed at her.

* * *

"You're back!" Antoinette Marie exclaimed, hugging the younger girl.

Felicienne let out a small 'oomph' as the air was squeezed out of her lungs by the exuberant woman.

"How did it go?"

"It went fine. A little uneventful."

"Then what took you so long to get back?"

"Unrelated business. Took quite a bit longer than I thought it would."

"We thought something might have happened."

Felicienne paused at looked at Antoinetta, a frown tugging on her mouth.

"You're the second person to say that; you can't all be that concerned about my welfare. Is there something going on?"

Antoinetta gazed at the girl, her clear green eyes reflected the candlelight of the sanctuary. Shadows flickered across her pale skin as she worried the inside of her cheek. "Things can happen on jobs. But, more than that…" she trailed off while she wrinkled her forehead. "There have been certain...things going on, lately. Lucien and Ocheeva, and even Vicente have been trying to keep it quiet but, apparently, some family members have been murdered."

"Murdered? Really?"

"Yes! No one knows who's behind it. There's...talk...of a traitor."

That was disconcerting, to say the least. That would put most people on edge. And would explain why everyone here seemed so surprised she came back at all. Though she couldn't imagine any benefit coming from her death. Not in the Dark Brotherhood, anyway. She sighed, recalling the assassins she and Martin encountered at the priory.

"Ah, I'm sorry, sister, you shouldn't trouble yourself with such thoughts. It's no one here, I can assure you that."

Felicienne laughed. "I didn't think it would be. Besides, I think the only one I would have to be worried about is M'raaj-Dar. If it weren't for the Tenets, he probably would have immolated me by now."

Antoinetta opened her mouth, presumably to protest, but then snapped it shut and grinned at her fellow Breton. Then, her smile softened and she went to speak again. "Lucien actually stopped by, while you were away. I heard him ask Vicente about you."

"Probably to see if I'd gone and died on my first job," she joked, rolling her eyes.

"Maybe."

Felicienne looked at her with her eyebrow raised, but Antoinetta no longer appeared inclined to provide any more information. "Well," she broke, "that was...nice...of him, I suppose."

"You don't care much for him, do you?" Antoinetta inquired, brow raised and arms crossed. "You've been a bit cold whenever our Speaker is brought up."

The darker haired woman started, chewing on her lip as she contemplated her answer. She shifted her weight side to side before parting her lips to respond. "I'm not. I...don't really know him, do I? Other than he's broken into my bedroom twice in the middle of the night. Undetected. While I'm in various states of undress."

"Are you afraid of him?"

Felicienne looked at the blonde, pointedly. "Maybe you wouldn't mind him breaking into your rooms," she mumbled. Antoinetta cleared her throat and turned her head away from the younger woman. The brunette huffed, and gazed off towards the living quarters before she continued, "I don't really know him."

"As long as you're loyal to our family, you won't have to worry about Lucien."

"Yeah, I know that. It's just…this is a really strange point in my life," Felicienne muttered. "Don't worry about it. I'm just feeling a bit tetchy is all. Still getting used to everything, I suppose. I'm sorry for being waspish."

"You'll be fine," the older woman assured her. "So, what's your new contract?"

"Staging an accident, apparently," Felicienne responded, grateful for the change of topic.

"Ooh, where?"

"Up in Bruma."

"You do get around, don't you?"

"It's really not my fault."

The two women fell into a companionable silence, walking together towards the dining hall. As they walked, Felicienne took a moment to study her friend. Antoinetta Marie was a very beautiful woman: she stood somewhat taller than Felicienne, had bright blonde hair, clear skin, and vibrant green eyes. It was so strange to think of the woman as an assassin, though Felicienne heard enough evidence to prove that she was indeed quite brutal. During their somewhat infrequent, as of late, interactions, Felicienne found herself to be quite jealous of the other Breton. She had the features she had always wanted back home in High Rock. Where Antoinetta was bright and alluring, Felicienne felt diminished by her. Her hair was quite dark, her complexion too pale and, at times, ashen, and she was quite small; the diminutive nature of her build was enough that people often thought her younger than she was, as Martin had pointed out weeks ago. There was very little that was remarkable about her appearance. Her personality even less so.

"Are you alright?" her companion asked.

"I'm fine, just...a bit homesick."

Antoinetta nodded, trying to empathize with the younger girl. She supposed that if she had had a home before the Dark Brotherhood and Lucien, she might miss it as well. Felicienne did not discuss much of her past, and, on a whole, it appeared as if there wasn't much to know about the girl. Even eavesdropping on Ocheeva and Lucien didn't garner much more information than what the younger Breton disclosed to everyone else.

* * *

Sneaking into Baenlin's home had been rather simple. Stealth had often been a strong suit of Felicienne's, and with her penchant for the school of illusion, the job proved to be little challenge at all. The manservant hadn't even noticed her presence, which was fortunate because he was a rather large man and she had no doubt in her mind that, if caught, he would give her quite the beating. Still, hearing his cry at finding his former employer dead startled something in her. By all accounts from around town, the elf seemed like a pleasant fellow. She hadn't allowed herself to ponder over her actions while in the middle of the job, but now that she was safely outside of Bruma's walls and her adrenaline slowed, she recalled the events that had transpired only hours before. It wasn't like killing Rufio or the pirate, Gaston Tussaud; both men had absolutely deserved to meet justice at the wrong end of a sharp blade. Or correct end, depending on one's perspective.

The elf felt different.

Someone had just wanted him dead, for whatever reason.

The cold bit into her skin, even through the leather armor she wore. A chill that made its presence known long before she stepped foot in Bruma; the same foreboding presence that never strayed far from the corners of her mind, that took the form of a dark cloak and dark eyes.

She trudged along through the snow, her boots crunched through the icy layer as the light of Masser and Secunda reflected off of the ground and cast an eerie glow before Felicienne's eyes. Tired, her pace was somewhat sluggish as she made her way up to Cloud Ruler Temple. She hadn't planned on going back this quickly, but her limbs were leaden and her mind fogged. The girl just wanted to get some warm food in her stomach and curl up next to the large hearth in the main hall.

It was a good two hours walk from the town to the temple, and she doubted anyone else would still be up, beyond a skeleton night patrol. Perhaps the embers would still be glowing in the fireplace when she arrived. If nothing else, she could grab a quick breakfast in the morning before she headed out again. If Martin and the Blades didn't need her here first, in any case.

She pushed the doors open, as softly as she could to not disturb anyone's sleep and crept towards the chairs in front of the still-burning coals. She jumped when someone uttered an, "oh, you're back so soon?"

"Martin," she gasped. "I didn't see you there," she whispered over the pounding of her heart.

He let out a soft chuckle and stood from his seat. "I didn't mean to startle you. You looked like you were concentrating; I didn't want to alarm you. It appears I've done so anyway."

"What are you still doing up?" she muttered.

"I could ask you the same."

"I had some business in town. It concluded...late. And I don't want to spend money on an inn."

"I was speaking earlier with Jauffre about our next move regarding the Amulet of Kings and how we're going to get it back." He gestured to the chair across from the one he just vacated. "You should have a seat; you look exhausted."

She nodded, feeling her throat tighten as she looked at him again. She settled herself into the seat. "It's been a long day," she mumbled, turning her face towards the dying light.

"I didn't expect to see you back before Jauffre sent for you. Which," he interrupted himself, "he was planning to do tomorrow. So your arrival is most fortuitous."

"That's my specialty: fortuitous timing," she uttered, forcing the words through the sand that lined her larynx.

"I've just been studying the Amulet, during my time here. I fear we have a long way to go before we have anything."

"Did the sigil stone I left behind help at all?"

"It's given some insight into how these Gates are constructed. More research is needed, I'm afraid."

She nodded again, blinking her eyes to clear her vision from the heat of the fire, and drew her knees up under her chin, catching the heels of her boots on the edge of the seat. She heard the rustle of Martin's robes and the scrape of wood against the floor as he sat down again across from her.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"It's just been a long day."

His face soon dominated her field of vision; she hadn't even noticed him moving. "You've done quite a bit already, for everyone. If there's something on your mind, you can speak with me, if you wish."

She swallowed, her throat bobbing up and down as she pressed her tongue into the roof of her mouth. She went to open and close her mouth several times before she shook her head and smiled. "I'm fine. Really. It's kind of you to offer."

He brought his hand to her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, the warmth from it radiating from his palm into the leather she wore.

"I thought you'd be younger," she blurted out.

He drew his hand back, starting at her voice. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, just, when the Emperor told me about you, and you being the youngest and illegitimate I just thought that...I don't know what I'm saying. I'm sorry. I'm tired. That was really rude of me. I'm sorry. Not that you're old; you're not. I mean, Emperor Uriel's other sons were in their 50s and 60s, I believe. Please stop listening to me." She looked up at him from where she sat. "It's different than it is in children's books. There's no princess in a tower and the heroes aren't always stalwart and true."*

Martin listened to her, watched the way the embers and candlelight reflected in her eyes and the glow of her blue irises. "You're right," he conceded. "It's not a fairytale." He offered his hand to her and shivered when she placed the appendage within his; the chill from her skin soaked into him. "You should get to bed; I imagine Jauffre will want to speak with you fairly early tomorrow morning," he stated, helping her up. He opened his mouth again, but caught himself before he could say anything else.

"Hopefully there's a bedroll left in the barracks," she murmured, smiling at him. "I was actually planning on sleeping on the chair out here, but I won't disturb you any longer."

He parted his lips to respond, but she glided out of the room, the watery footprints and the kiss of frost in his palm the only evidence she'd even been there.

* * *

In the early hours, Felicienne perched herself on the edge of one of the watchtowers, ignoring the Blade who stood behind her.

"You don't need to be out here," he grumbled.

"I like the sunrise."

She'd not slept well the night before, the events of the day plaguing her even in her sleep. She watched as the developing rose of the sky dissolved the jeweled canopy that enveloped the world minutes ago. She pressed her face against the wooden balustrade and sank into it. Its weathered surface scraping against her cheek settled the twists and knots that found their way into her abdomen; she considered what lay ahead of her when she arrived back in Cheydinhal. She supposed she could just leave. She didn't need to go back to the Dark Brotherhood at all. But where would she go? Would she stay with the Blades? She thought not; she was a murderer. They would never accept her if they ever found out about that. The Dark Brotherhood would likely find her, as well. And, if she were being perfectly honest with herself, a soldier's life wasn't exactly something she felt cut-out for. It wasn't as though she could just hop back to the Isles; she was still needed on Nirn. Perhaps when the Oblivion Crisis, as the paper was calling it, was sorted and Martin firmly set on the Ruby Throne she would take herself away to the realm of Sheogorath.

But even there, she was alone.

A shout broke into her reverie, and she hopped up to face whoever intruded into her thoughts. As she calmed, she noticed it was another Blade. Younger than the one she had been seated near.

"Master Jauffre needs to see you!"

"I'll be right there."

She left behind the watchtower and made her way back inside the temple to find Jauffre who was sitting at one of the dining tables in the Great Hall.

"You wanted to see me?"

He glanced up from the book he was reading and fixed her with a steady gaze. "Yes, I've heard back from one of my agents in the Imperial City. I believe you've met him, actually," he stated. At her raised eyebrow, he clarified, "He's a Blade by the name of Baurus; he was with the Emperor when the assassins attacked in the secret passageway."

Felicienne's mouth formed a soft 'o' as she recalled the remaining guard in the Imperial Prison. She'd never caught his name.

"I need you to meet him at Luther Broad's Boarding House in the City. It seems he's uncovered something about the plot to eradicate the Septim line and a start to where we might be able to find the Amulet of Kings."

"So, I'm going back to the Imperial City then?"

"Is that a problem?"

She held up her hands, palms forward, and shook her head. "No, no, just making sure." She paused, pulling on her shirt and moving her weight from side to side. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

Jauffre exhaled, "No, the sooner you leave the soon you'll meet with Baurus, and time is absolutely of the essence. Just," he paused, "is everything alright?"

"Has Martin said something?" At his sharp look, she lowered her eyes. "I mean, has Emperor Martin said something?" she relented, scuffing her boot along the floor.

"Not in so many words, but yes he appears concerned for you."

"I'm fine, really. I do have a lot on my plate."

Jauffre nodded and steepled his fingers in front of his chest while leaning forward to rest on the table more. He regarded her, his expression sombre. "We-I-am asking a lot from you, I know. We would not ask if it was not absolutely necessary. Any one of us Blades would trade places with you. But Uriel saw something in you-something made him feel that you were most suited to this task. And, it pains me to admit it, you've already done more than prove him right."

Felicienne stepped back, her face flooding with warmth as she processed his words. She finally found her voice and stuttered out, "Thank you, Jauffre." She composed herself, and shoved her hands into her breeches' pockets. "You didn't have to say all that. I was going to go anyway. But-" she paused, looking off to the side, a smile tugging on her lips and making them twitch "-I appreciate that you said it."

"Yes, well, off you go then," he said and cleared his throat. He began to gather the books in front of him, stacking them into neat piles. "Baurus is waiting for you at Luther Broad's. Best not to keep him waiting too long. We need that information."

She rolled her eyes made her way back down towards the barracks in order to retrieve her satchel. She left Cloud Ruler Temple just as the sun burst over the Valus Mountains.

* * *

Felicienne looked down at the body of, as Baurus told her, Astav Wirich with her dagger still clenched in her fist and his blood still dripping over her knuckles. Baurus patted her on the the back. "It really is good to see you. Thanks for you help. My investigation seems to have ruffled some feathers. We should search him for anything that might be useful."

Sheathing her blade, she crouched down and opened the messenger bag Wirich had still strapped to him. It was heavy as she lifted it up and rifled through it, and her hand grasped the spine of a thick tome. She pulled it out, dropping the bag, and ran her fingers over the embossed letter spread over the cover. Her lips formed the shapes of the words, and she turned back towards Baurus. "'Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes?' Does that mean anything to you?" she asked. "It looks daedric," she added, flipping through the pages and seeing the symbols that decorated sections of the book.

"Not really my area of expertise, but you might want to head over to the Arcane University. Tar-Meena is the resident expert on daedric cults; she's helped the Blades a few times. She would know more than I do."

"So, then you think a daedric cult is behind the assassination? I guess that makes sense," she mused as she slipped the book into her own pack before continuing, "the people we encountered under the prison, they had bound armour and weapons, and the Emperor did mention 'the Prince of Destruction.' Jauffre seems to think it's a reference to Mehrunes Dagon. I suppose it's not surprising now, now that the Mysterium Xarxes is involved. Sort of. Also, the Oblivion Gate in Kvatch kind of gave that away. At least, from what I remember reading about Dagon." At Baurus' raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "I had family members in the Mage's Guild in High Rock; a couple studied daedra and liked to talk during holidays."

"Of course," he said. "No Mage's Guild for you? Fine Breton that you are, anyway."

She glanced off to the side, cheeks turning pink. "I don't really have the right temperament for it."

Baurus laughed, the force of it shaking his shoulders. "You don't say." He paused, exhaling through his nose and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I need to alert the city guards about what happened, and so they can clean up. You should head over to Tar-Meena and see if she can help."

"On it," she confirmed, patting her bag and gesturing towards the door of the basement. "I'll just leave you here then, to talk to the guards, I mean. I'd like to avoid getting thrown in prison again, if it's all the same to you."

"You know that it's noted you've been pardoned. You've more than earned it."

She shrugged and ascended the staircase, grinning back at him.

When she stepped outside, Magnus hung low in the sky, just above the top of the walls of the Elven Garden District of the city, its light bouncing off the sides of white-stone buildings, the scent of wet cobblestone wafted around her as she breathed in, filling her lungs with the crisp late-afternoon air. She exhaled puffs of fog that rose and dissipated before her face while walking towards the University. Hopefully, she would arrive early enough that she could see someone. She kept her head down, as it wasn't long since she was here for the Dark Brotherhood, though she had no plans to head to the Waterfront as she heard that the Marie Elena was still docked in the harbor.

There was little desire for her to risk running into any of the captain's former crew, despite the unlikelihood of them recognizing her.

She made her strides long and direct as she hurried through the city, and before long stood at the entrance of the rather magnificent Arcane University. She watched the purple flames that lit the path dance and flicker while she walked along the stone path. Upon entering the tower, she asked a mage if he knew where she might be able to find a Tar-Meena. The mage pointed to an Argonian woman sitting at some distance from the door, reading. Thanking him for his time, she walked over to Tar-Meena and introduced herself to the other woman. When asked for what Felicienne wanted, the Breton asked what she knew of the Commentaries of the Mysterium Xarxes.

"I'm working with the Blades," she added.

Tar-Meena gave the girl a brief rundown of the history of both the Commentaries and their author: Mankar Camoran, the founder of the Mythic Dawn cult. She also confirmed what Baurus and Felicienne already suspected; it was a daedric cult dedicated to Mehrunes Dagon who was behind the attack on the Septim line. The mage lent Felicienne the second volume, but told her that the University Library did not carry the third or fourth volumes, and that they were near-impossible to obtain. However, Tar-Meena reassured, The First Edition may be able to order the third volume. From her studies, she was sure that the fourth volume would have to come from a member of the cult itself.

* * *

 **AN:** I'm so sorry, I didn't notice until this chapter that I was having formatting issues. Nothing terrible, but they make the story more difficult to read. Also, please excuse any mistakes I might have made. I do not have a beta reader so I do all of my own editing.


	4. Through Dawn and Dusk

"That little pissant," Felicienne griped, two days later after Baurus finished his breakfast, and she slammed the third volume of "Commentaries" down on the table in front of him. The Redguard tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows at her actions. She continued, her voice high-pitched, "I've danced naked in the moonlight during Heart's Day for Lord Sanguine and divined under the gaze of Vaermina and I'm a big experienced daedra-worshipping Wood Elf." She crossed her arms, glaring down at the book. "He had a meeting with someone called The Sponsor set up-in the sewers, by the way-to get the fourth volume. Made me buy this one for 100 gold."

"That's great. When is the meeting supposed to take place?"

"You're not even going to ask how it went?"

"I think I can already tell. What's important is that you got the book."

"Sure, sure. The meeting is for this afternoon. Here, I think. In the sewers, I mean. The Elven Garden sewers."

"Good, I can show you where we'll be headed then."

"You're going with me?"

"You need someone who's experienced with undercover work. I think you, especially."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means."

"I can do undercover. I'm inconspicuous."

There was a long pause before Felicienne huffed and flopped down into the stool next to her companion as she continued to insist she'd be fine alone.

"I'm a Blade; it's my duty to do this. It's the least I can do. For the Emperor."

She turned towards him and nodded. She fell silent for the remainder of the morning.

* * *

That evening, Baurus and Felicienne escaped the sewers with the fourth volume and their lives, though Baurus refused to see a healer. Despite her protests that she did poorly with convalescence spells, she patched him up as best she could, given the circumstances. She hadn't expected the two patrolling cultists that headed towards her hiding spot while Baurus was meeting with the Altmer-who happened to be Camoran's son, of all people-and things spiralled downhill from there. He insisted on heading back to Cloud Ruler Temple to be with Martin, but Felicienne wrangled a promise from him that he would stay in Luther Broad's until the next day at least, if only to get some rest. She assured him that she would go see Tar-Meena without him, now that they had the whole collection in their possession.

The next morning, when Felicienne headed out, she was unsurprised to find that Baurus had left even before the sun rose, and packed her own things up before she left for the University, as she planned on heading out herself. Away from the Imperial City, at least. She had stayed up the previous night, looking over the series, her eyes throbbing as the hours wore on. It just seemed like the rantings of a fanatic, to her. A power-hungry one, at that. She shivered, feeling the cold of the city settle into her as she crossed the threshold to the University Tower once again.

Meeting with Tar-Meena was quick, as the Argonian-apparently-had other duties to attend to, but she felt that the key to what they were looking for lay in the books. With a sigh, Felicienne headed back towards the Boarding House; it didn't appear as if she would be leaving the Imperial City today.

She slumped back down onto her bed, glad that no one rented out the room in the time she'd been gone, and dumped the books back onto it's somewhat soft surface. The more she stared, the less the damn things made any sense, however, one detail caught her eye: the font of the first letter of every paragraph was in a different style. That's an expensive maneuver, she thought, since it was such a fine detail to have done to every single paragraph, instead of once a chapter, as was the standard. When she realized what she was looking at, she tapped her head against the wall and snapped the books shut and took off again.

* * *

And that's how she arrived at Lake Arrius. At a cave. That, apparently, housed the meeting place for the Mythic Dawn.

She was going to infiltrate it. Or die. It wasn't clear at that point. What was clear, however, was that she found herself right in the middle of where she absolutely did not want to be.

"There's always a passphrase," she mumbled, pushing the wooden door open so she could enter the damp cavern.

An Imperial cloaked in red greeted her on sight. "Dawn is breaking."

She took a deep breath. "Greet the new day."

A smile bloomed across his face and he placed an arm around her shoulders, steering her down one of the passages, speaking as he did so. "Welcome, sister. The hour is late, but the Master still has need of willing hands. I will take you to Harrow, who will lead you to the Master for your initiation into Lord Dagon's service." When they approached the larger antechamber, he led her to a Dark Elf, presumably the aforementioned Harrow. "Do not tarry," the Imperial stated, "the time of Cleansing is almost here." And he spun on his heel and exited down the hallway they came in from.

"Welcome sister!" the Dark Elf enthused. "I am the Warden of the Shrine, and you," he clasped her hand, "have come at the most opportune time. You will have the honor of being inducted by Mankar Camoran himself. As a member of the Mythic Dawn, you shall have all you need provided for you out of the Master's bounty. Please, leave your things with me and put on these robes."

She clutched her bag tighter, staring at the scarlet robes laid out over a piece of furniture behind Harrow. She swallowed and took a deep breath in, counting as she allowed to it escape through her nostrils and felt it tickle her upper lip. Her tongue darted out to wipe away the beads of sweat that gathered there, and she took notice of Harrow's narrowing eyes. She thrust her bag towards him and laughed. "I'm sorry. I've just had a long trip here. Forgive me."

He smiled and bent to retrieve her robes. "That's quite alright. The journey here is arduous, but well worth it, I can assure you."

When he handed the clothing to her and stood still in front of her, she hesitated. Face flaming now, she started to unbuckle the fastenings of her amber armour, her fingers fumbling over the clasps as she tried to shrug out of the cuirass.

He made a humming sound. "That's an unusual set of armour," he noted. "I've never seen anything quite like it. Where did you procure it?"

"From back home," she mumbled. Clearing her throat, she stood straighter after working the piece from her shoulders. "Blacksmith in High Rock. Makes the most amazing things." Clad in only her smallclothes now, her form shivered and she shrugged the robe on with a sigh and pulled the hood up over her hair. She grimaced at the way her new clothing glided along her bare legs and rustled in the breeze.

"Very good. Let us walk into the Shrine together."

Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a facsimile of a smile that she hoped appeared more appealing than it felt. They arrived, it seemed, just as Camoran was delivering a sermon to a rather large group of cultists. The light emanating from the torches and that filtered in from a rocky opening in the chamber ceiling caught on something around the Altmer's neck. She sucked in a breath and her back stiffened when he turned towards her direction.

"Praise be," he exclaimed. "The Dragon Throne is empty, and we hold the Amulet of Kings. Praise be to your brothers and sisters. Great shall be their reward in Paradise! Hear now the words of Lord Dagon," he looked down towards a tome he had spread before him. "'When I walk the earth again, the faithful among you shall receive your reward: to be set above all other mortals forever. As for the rest…the weak shall be winnowed; the timid shall be cast down; the mighty shall tremble at my feet and pray for pardon.'" He raised his head back towards his audience and held his arms up. "Your reward, brothers and sisters: the time of cleansing draws nigh. I go now to Paradise. I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn!"*

There were at least fifteen people in the room with her and she felt her stomach drop to her feet as she watched a portal open up and Camoran evaporated into thin air, taking the damn Amulet with him. The member who accompanied Camoran summoned Felicienne to the altar, and the girl noticed the book Camoran read from remained on the stand, and an Argonian priest was laid out on a slab of stone under the statue of Dagon. There person who summoned her, an Altmer woman, met her in the center of the stage. She handed the Breton a dagger and gestured towards the Argonian. "Dagon thirsts for red-drink," she declared. "Kill the priest and your initiation will be complete."

Clutching the blade in her hand, Felicienne's eyes darted between the elf, the Argonian, and the book, her breath becoming shallower as each second passed. She heard the audience grow restless and murmurs filtered through the thick atmosphere of the shrine.

"Gods damn it," she muttered.

The elf woman furrowed her brows a second before Felicienne plunged the dagger under her ribs, on the right side. The Altmer let out a hoarse cry, and made to swipe at the Breton but missed her mark. Felicienne took the opportunity to pull the blade free and stab the side of her neck, now that the woman woman was bent over. A moment of stillness passed over the crowd before a cacophony of rage poured over Felicienne's ears. She ran over to the sacrificial slab and shook the Argonian, hitting him with a convalescence spell.

"Wake up, wake the fuck up," she hissed. He jolted up and whipped his head back and forth, surveying the encroaching mob. She shoved the dagger, grip first, into his hand and demanded, through clenched teeth, "Go. You need to go. You need to go yesterday."

"But-"

"Don't argue. I'll be fine. Just fucking go." A fireball whizzed passed her head, singeing a couple strands before striking the statue in front of her. The Argonian lept up, a bit unsteady, but hobbled as swiftly as possible towards the exit.

Felicienne turned back towards the cultists and sent a frostbolt towards a couple members closest to reaching her. She needed to find Harrow.

She was blindsided by the blow of a mace to the left side of her head. Her world exploded in stars, and she staggered for a moment before grabbing a hold of her attacker and sending a jolt of electricity through them. She grabbed the mace from his corpse and swung, the motion a wide arc that-to her astonishment-clipped another person.

For some time it continued, the sounds of raging fire and the violent silence of ice ringing in the chamber before she struck Harrow with a stray frostbolt, and he dropped where he stood: at the center podium. Seeing her opening she darted for him, grabbing her bag from him. When she turned around, she saw the book still sitting open on display. She reached for it and shuddered when her hands made contact.

"She has the Mysterium Xarxes!" someone shouted. "Don't let her leave!"

She shoved it into her pack, then swung it around to knock a Nord who had snuck up behind her in the head. She ran, her feet hitting the stone floor and aches shooting up her ankles and shins. She ran towards the main opening, cursing herself the whole time for not keeping the Staff with her. She cursed Martin and Jauffre and Baurus and Uriel. And most of all, she cursed her horrid luck as she burst through the cavern door and into the brisk evening, the light of Masser and Secunda shrouded as they hid their faces from Nirn.

* * *

A week later, Felicienne managed her way back to Cloud Ruler Temple.

After hiding out in the Jerall Mountains since the incident at Lake Arrius, she made sure she was not being followed before going back to the Blades and Martin. When she skulked through the door, once again late in the evening, Martin was there to greet her.

He rose from his seat and grasped her shoulders. "By the Nine, we were starting to worry. It's been nearly a fortnight with no word from you," he told her.

"It got messy," she stated.

He took in the green and yellow bruising around her face and the dishevelled state of her hair along with the deep shadows under her eyes. "Where were you?" he questioned.

"Dagon Shrine. I couldn't get the Amulet back." She looked down, tense in front of him.

Martin swore an oath, and Felicienne glanced back up at him with her eyebrows raised and grinned. He cleared his throat and stepped back from her. She rocked back on her heels and held her bag up to him. He frowned at her and she rolled her eyes.

"I was, however, able to get," she paused, opening her pack with a flourish and retrieved a thick manuscript from within and thrust it in his face, "this."

Martin's expression darkened. "What is this?"

"The Mysterium Xarxes."

"By the Nine," he shouted, "it's dangerous to even touch that thing. What are you doing carrying it with you?"

"Excuse the hell out of me," she snapped, dropping her bag, the tome landing on top of it and they both ignored the faint crunch it made on impact with the floor. "I only saw Mankar Camoran open a portal with it to his "Paradise" and thought it might be useful. A portal he escaped through with the damned Amulet of Kings, by the way. You know," she continued, "I don't see anyone else here going out and risking their necks to infiltrate a daedric cult. I don't even want to be doing this. But I don't have a choice, do I?" She panted, her face suffused with color and her eyes bright and luminous.

Martin crossed his arms and took a deep breath in, feeling the air fill his lungs and loosen the band that gripped his chest. He stared at her for a moment longer, the silence filling the distance that sprung between the two of them, he murmured, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. You're right; grabbing that book was the best decision." He bent down to retrieve it, wincing at the wetness he felt under his fingers when they brushed the soft material of her bag. "I think a couple potion phials broke."

She glared at him, then turned her gaze away. "Yeah," she agreed, still frowning.

He opened the Xarxes, his eyes following the daedric script laid out on the pages. "I need to study this," he said, "but I think I can find away to open the same portal that Camoran did. It will just take some time."

She nodded. She turned towards the corridor that led to the Blades' sleeping quarters.

Martin laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you heading to bed already?"

She turned her head towards Martin, her lips still turned down in a moue. "I'd like to sleep in some semblance of a real bed after camping out in the woods for nearly a week, if you don't mind. Like you said: it's been a couple weeks. I'm tired."

"Of course." He nodded, removing his hand from her person. He watched her leave, her silent footsteps just floating to his ears as her dark figure disappeared down the hallway. He let out another sigh and returned to his seat and stared at the passageway for some time as the shadows from the torches twirled and glided along the walls, hugging the corners. He turned his attention back to the book, far more alert than he had been at the beginning of the evening.

* * *

Felicienne made her way back to Cheydinhal in a matter of days, and two weeks there had passed with no word from Jauffre or Martin regarding the situation with Mankar Camoran and the Mysterium Xarxes. With little else to do, she spent that time with the rest of her new Dark Brothers and Sisters. She rested on top of her bed in the living quarters.

"What is the matter with you?" Antoinetta burst out. "You've been moping about since you've been back. You let Vicente know that you finished your contract-which we heard about well before you got back, by the way-and then you've just been in here since." Antoinetta glared, but softened her face at Felicienne's lack of response. "Is everything alright?"

The younger Breton sighed. "Yes, everything's fine. I really have just had a lot going on."

The blonde raised an eyebrow, but made no further comment. "We should go out," she said.

"Really?"

"Yes. You stay here all the time, when you're in town, that is. There are taverns here, you know. I don't know what all you have going on, but it's clear you work too much. Besides," she drawled, "I have a friend I want you to meet. He's one of us, so you don't worry."

"He's in the Dark Brotherhood?"

"Yes. A Breton, too, like us. He actually started in our Sanctuary. He's been here a long time."

Felicienne grinned. "Is this a friend?" she asked, then leered. "Or a 'friend.'"

Antoinetta's face glowed before she sat back on her own bed and fairly simpered. "That's really none of your business."

Felicienne cackled. "Now you have to tell me. It's not fair. You're having this fantastic rendezvous with a mysterious man and I live in perpetual chastity."

"He's not mysterious; everyone here knows him."

"He's mysterious to me."

"And it's not serious anyway." The blonde coughed. "Neither of us expects anything from the other."

"Right," Felicienne dragged. "You've your eye on someone else." She gazed at Antoinetta out of the corner of her eye.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Felicienne made a small 'hmm' sound and nodded, still grinning.

"What was that about 'perpetual chastity'?"

The brunette bit her lip. "It's not like it's on purpose," she huffed. "It's just...never come up."

"You're too prickly for most men. Women too, most likely."

"Pardon you," Felicienne interjected, throwing her pillow at Antoinetta's pretty face. "I am the epitome of charm and grace."

Antoinetta laughed, hitting the back of her head against the wall. She winced but kept chuckling. At Felicienne's glare, she held her hands up. "It's nice to see you a bit more relaxed. You were just a scared rabbit when you first arrive here."

As Felicienne opened her mouth to retort, M'raaj-dar opened the door to the quarters and stuck his head inside. "Our Speaker is here, you gaggling geese. Ocheeva sent me to alert you." He strode out after relaying his message and both women rolled their eyes.

"Did I do something to him?" Felicienne asked.

"Don't mind him. He was just as surly when I arrived."

"Does he get better?"

"Give it about a year."

"Now, that's just lovely." Felicienne crossed her arms behind her head as Antoinetta stood up from her bed.

"Felicienne, aren't you coming?"

"Am I supposed to?" the brunette asked while sitting up.

"Seeing as Ocheeva sent M'raaj-dar to tell both of us," she trailed off, then sighed when she saw Felicienne was not moving. "Yes. Lucien is in charge of this Sanctuary."

"Fine, fine," the younger girl said, finally getting off of her bed and stretching. Antoinetta shook her head, and with a grin Felicienne noticed her quick pace on their way to greet Lachance. Rolling her eyes again, she trailed after the blonde woman as they made their way into the main entrance. "Looks like we won't be going anywhere tonight," she snickered. "Not that you'd want to now, anyway."

Antoinetta glared at her.

When they arrived in the foyer, Lucien was still speaking with Ocheeva, and Felicienne took the opportunity to sidle around the edges of the room to the reading area to sit and wait. She wasn't the one who wanted to insert herself in Lachance's company, she thought with a small grin. As she buried her face in "Azura and the Box," she heard Lachance and Antoinetta exchange greetings and Antoinetta's bell-like laughter. Felicienne shook her head and continued to thumb through the novel, recalling her lessons with Haskill in Cyrodilic. Some bitterness remained that she was not able to procure any books that were written at least in Nordic. She squinted at the words, and snapped the book shut, her eyes beginning to throb and water. While it had gotten better, she still couldn't quite bring herself to read these books for fun. Perhaps the next time she was in the Imperial City, she would visit First Edition and place a special order for books from High Rock.

She sat, listening to the ambient noise around her: Lachance and Antoinetta's low voices, the faint sound of M'raaj-dar training in the next room and each impact a frost spell of his made on one of the wooden targets, Gogron gro-Balmog's heavy footfalls as he entered the sanctuary from the well entrance and Telaendral's enthusiastic greeting of him. Felicienne leant against the back of the chair, feeling it shift and creak under her slight weight while it pressed into her skin against her shoulder blades and dug in. A crawling sensation broke out over her flesh and the hair on her nape prickled. She shuddered and looked up from a fascinating spot on the stone wall and glanced towards Lachance and Antoinetta. Still in conversation, but Lachance caught her eye before she turned away, cheeks flushed, and trained her gaze back on her spot. Pins and needles pricked at her skin, and she shifted in her seat, never settling for long. She heard their conversation taper off and Lachance's, rather curt in Felicienne's opinion, dismissal of the older Breton.

It was silent for a moment before she heard the whisper of footsteps and the creak of the other chair adjacent to hers. She turned her head to see Lachance seated across from her.

"You seem to have settled in well. The time you're here, that is," he remarked, steepling his fingers in front of him as his elbows laid on the armrests of the chair.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. "I have," she stated. Her eyes darted from him to her lap to the wall and back again. She tugged on the hem of her linen shirt, feeling it catch on her shoulders when it ran out of slack.

"Vicente tells me that you haven't accepted another contract yet," the Imperial continued. "Is there any particular reason why you haven't?"

"No, of course not. I mean, I've had other obligations to see to. I was going to ask Vicente about work tomorrow. I wasn't aware that there was already something else available." Not a complete lie; she hadn't known she would be expected to pick up something so soon. She shouldn't have become as lax as she had in recent weeks regarding the Brotherhood.

He regarded her from where he sat, and he saw her fidget under the weight of his observations. Her hair fell around her face from her loosened ponytail, and the candlelight flickered across her face, her skin glowing gold in the dim light. A bruise was blooming across her right cheekbone, and other, smaller, bruises dotted her collarbones and appeared on the tops of her hands and highlighted the paleness of her flesh. They varied in appearance, going from a jaundiced yellow to vibrant blue and purple.

Whatever she did when she was not in Cheydinhal, she was busy.

He inquired about her progress from time to time, far more than he had when it came to other recruits. Whenever he stopped by, she was either gone entirely or drifted around the sanctuary quiet and demure. Half of the time, it was as if she still wasn't there though her presence was felt. She still moved with a nervous gait, despite her silence, each gesture filled with anxious energy.

She also did her best to avoid him. He had seen her skirt the edges of the walls, dancing out of his periphery.

He let a small grin flash across his features, nearly imperceptible unless one paid painfully close attention. It seemed as though their first encounters would not be forgotten so soon for Felicienne. Though she played brave, her terror had been palpable-enticing, really-even as she stared him down. If he had made any threatening move towards her, he was sure she would have given him quite the struggle. She might have even left her own marks on him, and he felt a thrill go through him at the prospect. She was easy to underestimate.

However, he was her Speaker, and it was time that she began to treat him with that respect.

Her voice broke into his thoughts as she spoke up, in a near-whisper, "Was there something you wished to discuss? Am I in trouble?"

"No, you're not. You would know if you were."

"That's reassuring," she said.

He leaned back, drumming his fingers together. "You are from High Rock, correct?"

She started, but nodded to him. When he didn't say anything else, she opened her mouth. "From Jehanna, actually."

"The Western Reach?"

She nodded again, scooting closer to the edge of her seat. "Yes, my mother was from a tribe of Reachman. They were integrated, of course. We lived near the town-proper."

"What brings a Reachman all the way to Cyrodiil?"

"The Night Mother wasn't able to tell you?" she asked. Lachance raised an eyebrow of his, his gaze hardening and Felicienne cursed her big mouth. "I mean no disrespect, of course," she stammered. "I just thought that you all would have some way of knowing. You knew I was in the Imperial City prison, I just assumed-" Lachance held a hand up before she finished her sentence. "I'm also not a Reachman," she interjected, her hackles up. "But, yes, we lived in the Western Reach. There just wasn't much left for me there. My family's gone. My parents, anyway. There wasn't really much point in me staying. I thought Cyrodiil would be a nice, cosmopolitan change. Skyrim's still a little xenophobic and, as has been pointed out to me a few times, I'd be perceived as a Reachman. Not exactly what I'd want in that province, given the disputes that still go on in the Reach with the local Nords, despite my name." She snorted, settling back down against her chair, the tension seeping away from her shoulders. "You'd think they'd give up. The Empire gave that land to the Nords and Bretons, and they're not going to let it go." She laughed. "My mother said that she came from a people who didn't know they'd been conquered. I mean, it's only been a few hundred years, right?" She glanced at him, narrowing her eyes, but her mouth drawn back in a slight grin. "You know, you could ask Antoinetta this; I've told her enough."

"I am no gossip, sister."

"But we are. Speaker."

"Perhaps I prefer to speak to you, personally. We've not had much time to talk. This is the longest you've spent in a room with me since the night we first met."

She flushed and looked down. Her hands twisted in the hem of her shirt and her knuckles turned bone-white.

He leaned forward in his seat, the torchlight catching on his face. His dark eyes glittered with the flickering of the flames. "Do you fear me?"

"I'm not afraid of anyone," she stated through her clenched jaw.

"Is that so?" he smirked at her, watching her blush deepen and spread down her decollete, marring the discoloration the bruising there.

"It is."

"Perhaps you should be." He watched her tense again, her hands stilled and her eyes trained on him. He stood and she jumped in her seat. "But you don't fear me," he chuckled.

She huffed, relaxing her posture. "No. I'm just high strung."

He laughed again and the sound slid down her spine and settled in her stomach as he turned to walk down the corridor towards the living quarters. "You should speak to Vicente about work soon. I think you'll enjoy your next contract."

She nodded, watching his black-clad figure disappear down the hall, robes billowing behind him. She let out a breath and sank back against her seat and she crossed her arms, holding her hands around her waist and pressing her elbows into them, feeling the slight vibrations they created.


End file.
